My dear fellow
by Christy Doyle
Summary: Watson wishes desperately he could see Holmes one cold evening. "He missed Holmes. It was not the cases that had drawn him to Holmes after a while but simply the thought of being of use to the dearest person he had on earth. His heart grew heavy with longing".


Dr. Watson flicked through the pages. His eyes shone bright in the firelight. He couldn't believe that he was no longer living in Baker Street. How many years of his life had he spent by the side of his friend? And now the closest he could get to seeing him or speaking to him was by paging through his own works. He only had to use the telephone to speak to him or drop in every often to see him but on days like this, when he would give anything to see him that very instant, he felt twinges of pain in his heart. He savoured every word he read and his mind envisioned Holmes standing in front of him, immaculately dressed, his eyes, light and mocking and his lips often smiling whenever Watson looked fondly at him. He missed Holmes. It was not the cases that had drawn him to Holmes after a while but simply the thought of being of use to the dearest person he had on earth. His heart grew denser with longing.

A knock sounded on the door and Watson clutched the desk convulsively. A frantic hope that it may be Holmes came to him. If only he could see him now, standing on his doorstep, the gaslight showing the oh so familiar features again.

His fingers lingered hopefully on the handle for a moment and then he threw the door open with abandon and just as he had wished, there was Holmes, sure enough, holding himself carelessly against the frame of the doorway. He smiled in his usual way and was about to say something when Watson nearly threw himself at him, knocking the wind out of his chest.

"My dear fellow" he whispered and he held him tightly for the first time in his life. He did not care what Holmes thought anymore. Seeing him had been enough.

Holmes was surprised and he patted Watson on his back and when he drew back, smiled in fond amusement at him. Watson squeezed his shoulders and looking down, said 'I am very sorry". He was surprised to see Holmes smile.

"My dear fellow" he said for the second time. "How have you been?" laying an arm on his shoulder again.

"I've been very well, Watson but if you don't mind, won't you ask me in?" Holmes said, laughing.

"I am very sorry. Come in, come in, I pray you" he said holding the door back for Holmes. Holmes observed the florid touch on his cheeks and the light in his eyes as if he were a giddy schoolboy home for the holidays and understood how much Watson had missed him.

They walked in together and Holmes asked about Mrs. Watson and the children. Watson seemed to reply absent-mindedly. It was hard to get a word in at the pace Watson was walking at despite the cold weather.

Once in the study, Watson pointed to the table and told Holmes how he'd just been reading 'A Study in Scarlet'. Holmes observed the book and gingerly opened it, feeling like Watson, as if he were re-living those memories again.

"You've quite changed, haven't you, Holmes?" Watson said, hardly capable of containing himself any longer.

"Have I, now?" Holmes asked, seating himself on the armchair opposite the desk.

"My dear fellow" Watson said again, for the third time. "I am very sorry. I-" he said going to the liquor cabinet. "I-I am so overjoyed to see you that I am absolutely manner-less" he said. Holmes smiled to himself again. He had not seen Watson like this for a long time. He did seem just too overjoyed to sit still for a moment. He saw Watson pour two drinks and took one from him and waited for Watson to come to his point.

"Yes, you have". Holmes sipped from his glass and let his eyes dwell tenderly on his friend.

"You- well- now you- you were" Watson said, leaning uncomfortably against the showcase. Holmes followed as best as he could, amused.

"Now you are- you used to be- now you are" he said, inhaling deeply. "You are warmer now. You used to be colder back then" he said in an injured tone, "but then I suppose you didn't know me" he added consoling himself.

"Was I?".

"Yes. I am glad that we are not in the beginning of our friendship then" he said quietly, speaking more to himself than to other. He meant to contain himself, to sit himself down and talk with Holmes as he had always done but seeing him today, right when he had so longed to do, seemed to make him lose all control over himself. He was overwhelmed and hardly knew what he said, thinking perhaps, it was still some delightful dream.

"It took you over three years to call me Watson instead of Doctor. If we were to go back" Watson said shaking his head.

Holmes took another sip. He stood up and leaned himself opposite Watson. He realized how much Watson loved him and how he had always loved him through the years.

"It is strange that we still call each other by our last names, isn't it?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, half trying to gauge if Watson wanted it to be otherwise, and half asking whether he regretted it. Watson looked up.

"I call you Holmes because I have gotten used to you under that name, Watson" he replied in a hurt tone, as if Holmes had hurt him. "And if I got to know you a hundred years more, I could never love you any more". "I am sorry" he added with a laugh, "I know how you disgust these displays of emotion but you have caught me in a sentimental mood".

Holmes took Watson's untouched glass from his hands and placing both his own and Watson's glass on the mantelpiece drew him into another embrace. He did not want Watson to know how his voice would tremble had he replied or how his eyes were fast growing dimmed.


End file.
